


Political Dancing Around

by violasarecool



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, Halamshiral, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 16:46:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14573259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violasarecool/pseuds/violasarecool
Summary: rascón may have agreed to attend halamshiral, but he never said he'denjoyit. luckily, some things (people) make it a little more bearable.





	Political Dancing Around

**Author's Note:**

> for reference, rascón grew up primarily in kirkwall

"This isn't my kind of thing," Rascón muttered to Bull. Around them, Orlesians chattered behind florid masks, giving them pointed looks now and then as if to emphasize how out of place they were in this gilded palace. "Give me a quiet rooftop and I'll wait 3 days for a target to appear. _This?_ _"_ Rascón jerked his head at a man standing by the railing. "I had to listen to him complain about the food for _fifteen minutes._ I don't _care_ if they don't have your favourite kind of _fish eggs,_ I don't even know what a _booya bess_ is!" Bull chuckled, and Rascón narrowed his eyes at him. "You're not going to tell me you're enjoying this?"

"Enjoying? Nah, it's pretty dull stuff. But I'm used to it," he shrugged. "The food's good, though, dunno what that asshole was complaining about."

"Is it?" Rascón said, amusement creeping into his voice despite himself.

"Sure, they've got all kinds of weird shit."

Rascón rolled his eyes. " _W_ _eird shit_ isn't exactly what I go for in food."

"Don't your people eat glowing mushrooms?" Bull asked with a grin.

 _"_ _My_ _people_ eat the lowtown _daily special_ ," Rascón said tautly, "which... is usually an unholy meat slurry of whatever vermin they can get their hands on, so point taken."

* * *

He ran into Vivienne in the ballroom, one arm draped across an ornamental railing. "You almost look like you're _enjoying_ yourself," Rascón said, leaning back against the railing. (He could have reached an _elbow_ up to said railing, but even that wasn't really comfortable at his height. He settled for crossing his arms.)

"Oh, I am," Vivienne smiled. "This is the Game, Inquisitor. If I didn't enjoy it, I'd be dead by now."

Rascón snorted. "Well, I guess it's a good thing you're good at it, then. Me, I can't _wait_ to get out of here."

"My dear, I think the entire _palace_ knows that," Vivienne said, "I could feel your glowering from the other end of the room. Do at try and put on some semblance of a show, or we'll have no end of offended nobles. Maker knows they'll be on our doorstep complaining for weeks."

* * *

Cassandra was leaning against a pillar in the outer vestibule when he found her, glaring at every masked dandy who dared walk past. "This ball is a waste of time, like all Orlesian foolishness," she muttered.

_"Thank you,"_ Rascón exclaimed, causing a few passers-by to stare. "I just had to listen to Leliana _rave_ about how you can tell someone's status in _the Game_ from their shoes, or some bullshit."

Cassandra snorted. "Orlesians pretend their petty squabbles are a 'game'. _Yes,_ let us treat murder, corruption, and deceit as delightful amusements. How wonderful."

"You're telling me," Rascón said, shaking his head. "If you're gonna kill someone, just _do it._ None of this political dancing around. I'd _kill_ for a good old fashioned fight right about now."

"Then find the Venatori collaborator. And _quickly,"_ she said wryly. "I do not know how much more of this I can endure."

 Rascón made a noise of agreement. "How about this: I promise not to punch any Orlesian nobles if you don't." Cassandra gave a low laugh. "It'll be our pact to get through this in mostly one piece. And when it's done," he said, stepping back towards the crowd, "maybe we can have a dance?"

Cassandra stared at Rascón for a moment, mouth slightly open in surprise. Then, just as he was about to turn to go, she gave him a quick nod.

* * *

At one point, Rascón stepped outside for a moment's reprieve—the cool night air was a balm to his growing headache. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend the distant voices were sounds of some noble's party drifting down from Hightown. Drunks staggering home from the Hanged Man. _Anything_ but another problem for him to deal with.

Footsteps, much closer now. Rascón opened his eyes to see a figure in Inquisition uniform pace past, then turn, and retrace his steps, mouth tight in an expression that looked somewhat anxious.

"Dorian?" Rascón called out, and the figure jerked to a stop, looking around for the source of the voice. Rascón stepped out into the courtyard. "Is everything alright out here?" he said in a low voice. "Did you see something?"

Dorian blinked at him, then gave a low laugh. "No, I... no, nothing new."

"Alright," Rascón said. He gave Dorian a pensive look. "When this is—" he started, at the same time as Dorian said "Do you—"

They both careened to a stop as suddenly as they'd begun. "Sorry," Rascón said, gesturing at him to continue.

"No, by all means, you first," Dorian said.

Rascón cleared his throat. "Okay. Later, when... all this _mess_ is done," he waved a hand vaguely with a look of such exasperation that Dorian had to suppress a smile, "do you want to—"

A scream pierced the air, the sound echoing from not too far away. "Well _now_ I think something's happened," Rascón said wryly.

* * *

When all was said and done, the night at least wrapped up rather neatly.

With Florianne under Inquisition guard, the party soon returned to full swing, and with it, the eating, dancing, and _dreadful_ small talk. Rascón made as many excuses as possible to step out, dancing first with Cassandra, then Josephine, and an amused Leliana. As he and Leliana climbed the steps up away from the dance floor, he scanned the crowd for a head of dark hair, his unfinished invitation to Dorian hanging in his memory.

"Have you seen Dorian?" he asked Vivienne as he passed.

"No, I'm afraid not," she said. "Why, is it important?"

Rascón quickly shook his head. "No, don't... don't worry about it." He slipped back into the crowd before she had a chance to say anything else. Dorian had probably gone somewhere quiet to escape all the people, and Rascón couldn't blame him. He was ready to leave himself—only there was still one last thing.

Further down the crowded hall, Bull stood leaned against the wall, arms crossed; he stood straighter as Rascón approached, arms falling to his sides with a smile. "Hey, boss," he said, "looks like you've been getting in a lot of dancing tonight. You all danced out yet?"

"Not a chance," Rascón said, mouth curling upward almost involuntarily. "Though I wouldn't mind a bit of quiet." He nodded at the open doors to a balcony a few feet away. "Care to join me?"

They stepped outside, falling wordlessly into step like they'd done it many times before. And in a way, they had—Maker knew Rascón would be the _last_ person to fall to the horrible poetic comparison of fighting and dancing, but there were just some things that you couldn't go through with another person without learning their body, their movements. Learning their back and forth, their tells.... hell, maybe it _was_ like dancing.

"I'm glad we got a moment," Rascón said, looking up at Bull. In truth, his neck was starting to hurt a bit from the height difference, but it was probably worth it.

"Yeah," Bull said, with a fond smile that curled Rascón's insides. "Me too."

Definitely worth it.

They stepped slowly around the stone tiles,sleeves rolled up to their elbows, jackets open to the cool air tickling their faces and arms. "Hm," Bull said, gaze focused over Rascón's head on the ballroom inside, and they slowed, Rascón watching Bull expectantly. "As nice as this has been, maybe we should get going soon," Bull said, with a nod inside. "Things are slowing down in there, and your girlfriend's getting antsy."

Rascón followed his gaze to where Cassandra stood, penned in by masked guests, arms crossed. He gave a quiet huff of a laugh, glancing back at Bull. "Doesn't take Ben-Hassrath training to see that."

Bull hummed in agreement. "Ready to ditch this party?"

"Bull, that dance was the only thing keeping me here. Let's get out of here." He stepped away from Bull, leaving their hands linked for just a moment longer before letting go. As he walked inside, Cassandra noticed his movement and straightened, a question in her eyes. Rascón nodded, and had to suppress a laugh when her shoulders fell in a sigh of relief clearly visible even from across the ballroom.

* * *

"Maker, I'm so glad that is over," Cassandra said as they walked across the palace grounds, sounds of music and chatter gradually receding.

"It was certainly an eventful evening," Josephine said.

"If anyone ever invites the Inquisition to an event like this again, you'd better tell them I've caught the plague," Rascón told Josephine flatly, "because there's no way I'm doing it again."

"I make no promises," Josephine said with a smile, "but I will bear that in mind."


End file.
